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Browsing named entities in a specific section of James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen. Search the whole document.

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Artemus Ward (search for this): chapter 4
chariot of his fortunes (Dexter's trotting wagon) like Zenobia in chains, -since the chains are of gold. As a writer of brief essays and slight sketches, Fanny Fern excels. She seems always to have plenty of small change in the way of thoughts and themes. She knows well how to begin without verbiage, and to end without abruptness. She starts her game without much beating about the bush. She seems to measure accurately the subject and the occasion, and wastes no words,--or, as poor Artemus Ward used to say, never slops over. As a novelist, she is somewhat open to the charge of exaggeration, and she is not sufficiently impersonal to be always artistic. Her own fortunes, loves, and hates live again in her creations,--her heroines are her doubles. As a moralist, she is liable to a sort of uncharitable charity and benevolent injustice. In her stout championship of the poor, of the depressed and toil-worn many, she seems to harden her heart against the small, but intelligent, ric
Poussin (search for this): chapter 4
eager faces. Bulwer says, Young girls are very charming creatures, except when they get together and fall a-giggling. Now I will venture to say this is just the time when Fanny Fern likes them best,--unless, indeed, the giggling is ill-timed, and therefore ill-mannered. In a scene of festal light, bloom, and music, of glancing and dancing young figures, she would never stand aside in the gloom of dark shrubbery, hard and cold and solemnly envious, like the tomb in a certain landscape of Poussin, bearing the inscription, I also once lived amid the delights of Arcadia. Yet, while ready to rejoice in the innocent mirth and exultant hopes of youth, this true woman can also feel a tender charity for its follies, and a yearning pity for its errors. No poor unfortunate in her utmost extremity of shame and mad abandonment, need fear from her lips a word of harsh rebuke, from her eyes a look of lofty scorn or merciless condemnation. But for the heartless wrong-doer, for the betrayer
Fanny Fern (search for this): chapter 4
's sunny character, the germs of those graceful Fern leaves that were to bring to the literature of The winds of good fortune scattered those first Fern leaves far and wide, till the country was greentance of literary success was the first book of Fern leaves, of which no less than seventy thousand would have read for thousands-hundreds. But Fanny Fern, with her rare business sagacity and practicno less than thirty-two thousand of these young Fern gatherers. Then came a Second series of Fern l. Though whole-hearted in her patriotism, Fanny Fern is not a political bigot. She probably does mismanaged world, which it will take many a Fanny Fern and much crockery-smashing to set right. Fourteen years ago Fanny Fern made an engagement with Mr. Banner, of the New York Ledger, to furnishd everywhere at once. Fourteen years ago, Fanny Fern made an engagement with Mr. Bonner, to furni writer of brief essays and slight sketches, Fanny Fern excels. She seems always to have plenty of [14 more...]
Maecenas (search for this): chapter 4
, but it was in reality big with the fate of Fanny and her girls. It was a venture quite as important to its author as was the first Boz sketch to Charles Dickens, or as was Jane Eyre to Charlotte Bronte. After a patient trial and many rebuffs, she found, in a great city, an editor enterprising, or charitable, enough, to publish this essay, and to pay for it,--for he was a just man, who held that verily the laborer is worthy of his hire, --to pay for it-fifty cents! It is to be hoped this Maecenas found himself none the poorer for his liberality at the end of the year. The essay proved a hit, a palpable hit, and was widely copied and commented on. It was followed by others, written in the same original, fearless style, which were gladly received by the public, and a little better paid for by publishers. A few months more of patient perseverance and earnest effort in her new field, and Fanny Fern could command her own price for her labor. Her head was above water, never again to
James Parton (search for this): chapter 4
Fanny Fern-Mrs. Parton. Grace Greenwood. Sara Payson Willis, daughter of Nathaniel and Sara man. In 1856 Fanny Fern was married to Mr. James Parton, of New York; a man of brilliant, but emiy by this happy consolidation of provinces. Mr. Parton's style has gained much in nerve and terseness, and even more in polish. Mrs. Parton's has more softness than of old, with no less vigor; it supported by her sole remaining daughter. Mrs. Parton has been from the first a most acceptable weir true El Dorado, their promised land. Mrs. Parton is now, if parish registers, family recordsatter of so much importance, I addressed to Mrs. Parton a letter of inquiry, and received in reply the following succinct statement:-- Mr. Parton and I had been stopping at the Girard House, and-set 1 Then, in my indignation, I did say to Mr. Parton, I have a good mind to send all the rest of icle with little more personal knowledge of Mrs. Parton than I have been able to obtain from brief
Thackeray (search for this): chapter 4
day? Do your dear five hundred friends always respect it, and postpone their weddings, musical matinees and other mournful occasions? Does the paper-hanger never put you to rout? Do you never have a bout with your sewing-machine and get your temper ruffled? Does not that wonderful wean, that darling grandchild, dainty little Effie, ever have a fit of naughtiness, or whooping-cough, or a tumble downstairs, on that day? Don't you ever long, on just that day, to lie on the sofa and read Thackeray? Ah, do not wars and influenzas, national crises and kitchen imbroglios, disappointed hopes and misfitting dresses, an instinctive receliiou against regulations and resolutions, even of your own making, ever interfere with your writing for the Ledger ? Doubtless you have been tempted, in times of hurry, or languor, in journeyings and dog-day heats, to break your agreement; but an honest fealty to a generous publisher has hitherto constrained you to stand by; and we like you for it. Other
Effie (search for this): chapter 4
gs, musical matinees and other mournful occasions? Does the paper-hanger never put you to rout? Do you never have a bout with your sewing-machine and get your temper ruffled? Does not that wonderful wean, that darling grandchild, dainty little Effie, ever have a fit of naughtiness, or whooping-cough, or a tumble downstairs, on that day? Don't you ever long, on just that day, to lie on the sofa and read Thackeray? Ah, do not wars and influenzas, national crises and kitchen imbroglios, disapted her to accomplish. In faithfully doing the work nearest to her hand she may be consoled by the consciousness that art has been shouldered aside by duty alone. Speaking of her little grand-daughter, in a private letter, she says: Our little Effie has never been left with a servant, and, although to carry out such a plan has involved a sacrifice of much literary work, or its unsatisfactory incompleteness, I am not and never shall be sorry. She is my poem. By these things we may see tha
Croesus (search for this): chapter 4
le charity and benevolent injustice. In her stout championship of the poor, of the depressed and toil-worn many, she seems to harden her heart against the small, but intelligent, rich but respectable, portion of our population, known as Upper-tendom. Can any good thing come out of Fifth Avenue? is the spirit of many of her touching little sketches. She seems to think that the scriptural comparison of the difficult passage of the camel through the eye of the needle settled the case of Mr. Croesus. Her tone is sometimes a little severe and cynical when treating of the shortcomings of the world of fashion. It is so easy to criticise from the safe position of a philosopher or poet; but how many of us would dare to answer for our Spartan simplicity and moderation, and our Christian charity and benevolence,--virtues which of course we all now possess in abundance,--should for tune take a sudden turn, open for us her halls of dazzling light, provide for us ample changes of purple and
Tasso (search for this): chapter 4
ations, andreceived a doctor's degree from the University of Padua; Laura Bassi, Novella d'andrea, and Matelda Tambroni were honored with degrees, and filled professors' chairs in the University of Bologna; but as far as I have been able to ascertain, by the most careful researches, not one of these learned ladies ever furnished an article for the Ledger every week for fourteen years., Corinna, for her improvisations, was crowned at the Capitol in Rome with the sacred laurel of Petrarch and Tasso; but she never furnished an article every week for the Ledger for fourteen years. Miss Burney, Miss Porter, Mrs. Radcliffe, Miss Austin, Miss Baillie, Miss Mitford, Miss Landon, Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. Gaskell, and the Brontes did themselves and their sex great honor by their literary labors; but not one of them ever furnished an article for the Ledger every week for fourteen years. Neither Mrs. Lewes nor Mrs. Stowe could do it, George Sand wouldn't do it, and Heaven forbid that Mis
Mary Russell Mitford (search for this): chapter 4
ssors' chairs in the University of Bologna; but as far as I have been able to ascertain, by the most careful researches, not one of these learned ladies ever furnished an article for the Ledger every week for fourteen years., Corinna, for her improvisations, was crowned at the Capitol in Rome with the sacred laurel of Petrarch and Tasso; but she never furnished an article every week for the Ledger for fourteen years. Miss Burney, Miss Porter, Mrs. Radcliffe, Miss Austin, Miss Baillie, Miss Mitford, Miss Landon, Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Marsh, Mrs. Gaskell, and the Brontes did themselves and their sex great honor by their literary labors; but not one of them ever furnished an article for the Ledger every week for fourteen years. Neither Mrs. Lewes nor Mrs. Stowe could do it, George Sand wouldn't do it, and Heaven forbid that Miss Braddon should do it! Why, to the present writer, who is given to undertaking a good deal more than she can ever accomplish; who is always surprised by publica
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